Werewolf: Post Apacolypse

For centuries, millennia, Garou have guarded against the coming of the Apocalypse, the end of the world of Gaia and Garou, of Wyld, Wyrm, and Weaver. Twenty years ago, the Apocalypse happened. It was over—the Garou had failed, and the world ended.
But then the world went on. Different, changed, but still extant. The Garou had lost much in the Apocalypse- many casualties, whole septs, cairns, and tribes slain, places of old power devastated. More than that, our networks were shattered, the old powers stopped working. Magic
was lost to our kind. Many more despaired at this, and, without a purpose, without power, the Garau disbanded. The spirits would not answer our calls, our gifts were stripped, and we were trapped even in our breed forms, unable to shift. No new cubs were born or found. No Rites of
Passage succeeded, or even attempted, for there were none to take them.

Years passed.

Gaia healed.

First we found we could shift again. Then the spirits began to answer our calls, and our gifts began once more to work. Finally, some brave travelers pierced the veil and departed into the Umbra, finding it much changed and far more dangerous than even it was before.
But—
But—
But—
Still no new Garou underwent the Rites of Passage.
Twenty years, and the youngest of the Garou had come of age before that time.

Until now.